Plain Again by Sarah Price Page B

hotel alone and sleep. With his blood pumping from the show, spending a few hours at a club with his friends began to sound like a good idea. Besides, he knew how important it was to be seen in public while on tour, especially in major cities.
    Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on the crush of paparazzi that followed them, eager for a photo of Viper out on the town in Boston with his posse. When one photographer came too close, Alejandro had held up his hand to the lens of the camera as he slipped through the throngs of people waiting to enter the club. He headed toward the VIP level to escape the probing eyes and overeager fans.
    Just as unfortunate was the fact that the photo of him pushing away the photographer was now the talk of social media. He hadn’t been in the mood for dealing with an in-his-face photographer, and when the man had invaded his personal space, Alejandro had reacted without thinking. Someone else had caught the grimace on his face as he shoved the photographer, and as was to be expected, the photo was plastered on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and websites around the world.
    Carlos had notified him in the morning, a stressed look on his face as he did so.
    “What do you mean?” Alejandro had demanded, his temper beginning to flare. “They said what?”
    Instead of replying, Carlos had handed him a piece of white paper. Screenshots of different social media outlets were on the paper. As Alejandro scanned the images, he clenched his jaw and shut his eyes.
    “Another ten pounds?” Marco asked, interrupting Alejandro’s thoughts.
    Dropping the weights to the ground, he looked up and stared at Marco, a shorter version of himself, who was well built, with brown hair and a fast smile. The one main difference was that his accent was not Cuban but pure American. They had met as teenagers in Miami and had often worked out together before the Viper years. He was a good man and often accompanied Alejandro on tours in the States as both his personal trainer and a bodyguard.
    “I’m done, man. That’s enough for one day,” Alejandro said and took the clean white towel that Marco handed him. He wiped at his neck and stood up. “Gracias.”
    “Just dancing won’t keep you in shape, V,” Marco said as he took back the damp towel. “Been too long.”
    Ignoring his friend, Alejandro slipped away and headed toward the private room that the facility provided to him in order to shower and change. He let the hot water pour over his head, one hand against the tiled wall, as he tried to make sense of what the media was saying.
    Cheating on Amanda? Dancing with other women? Threatening the paparazzi? Each accusation was stated as a fact, despite being a complete falsehood. Yet there was nothing that he could do about it. Not without taking severe and costly legal action, and ultimately, for what purpose? Either Amanda would believe him or not.
    A car was waiting for him outside the front door. Both Alejandro and Marco slipped inside before anyone recognized him. In silence, they rode in the back of the car as the driver headed toward Marco’s hotel before taking Alejandro to his first official appointment of the day: a photo shoot for a magazine. Immediately after, his publicist had arranged for an interview with a Latino reporter. Finally, he would head back to the hotel for a short nap before returning to the arena for his second concert in Boston.
    He took out his phone and fiddled with it. He wanted to call Amanda but didn’t want to have that dialogue in front of Marco. He’d have to wait until later that afternoon when he was back at the hotel. Still, he glanced down at his thirty text messages, hoping to see one from his wife.
    Nothing.
    “Ay, Dios ,” he mumbled.
    “What’s up?” Marco asked.
    Alejandro shook his head and, out of habit, began to scroll through his messages. Most of them were from Mike, two were from his publicist confirming times and locations, and the rest were from random